Nine Cold Nights
by adoredelayes
Summary: Rumors of conspiracy and betrayal circulate the newly reclaimed Winterfell as Jon Snow is crowned King in the North and Sansa Stark takes a lover. Featuring all the best things about Game of Thrones: Adventure! Romance! Stolen identities! Magical prophecies! Violence! Death? Podrick/Sansa with a little Tormund/Brienne sprinkled in for fun.
1. 1 – Knights & Stolen Steeds

1 – Knights & Stolen Steeds

Sansa Stark absentmindedly walked through the darkened halls of Winterfell as her newly appointed lady-in-waiting Beth Cassel struggled to keep up with her long strides. Beth was a tiny girl, much shorter than one typically sees in the north, with petite features aside from her bushy brown hair and large brown eyes. She had arrived a few weeks ahead of the rest of her family who would be arriving at Winterfell soon for the coronation festivities.

Suddenly, Sansa halted as something had caught her eye, and turned to face the grand tapestry, easily the length of two men, draped over the otherwise empty south wall across from the dining hall. It had been her favorite as a child, done in the Stark colors of rich green and white, and woven into it was the story of a noble's daughter who was kidnapped and raised in squalor, until one day when a knight, enchanted by her beauty and grace, saved her from her captors and whisked her away to his castle.

Sansa remembered Lady Beth standing next to her, and explained the story, pointing at the interwoven figures as they came up. "I always wondered if she was able to find happiness in that castle with her knight. Or if she ever missed the captors. They were, after all, the only family she'd ever known." Sansa resumed her pacing and Beth set to keeping up with her.

"I was once promised to a knight, you know." Sansa's eyes seemed glossed over, distant. Lady Beth only knew a fraction of what the princess of the north had been through, but she knew enough to understand the icy distance she kept from people.

"Ser Loras of House Tyrell, the queen's brother." she continued. "It was a happy fantasy for a while, that we'd ride off to Highgarden and live a happy life far away from the evil grip of House Lannister. But you can never truly escape evils, not once they've had you. It is all you can do to keep from becoming them yourself."

Lady Beth looked up at her, slightly horrified but doing her best to nod supportively. She thought to herself that she maybe preferred it when Sansa was distant.

They walked further through the castle and before they came to her parent's bedroom, they came across what Sansa remembered to be Arya's favorite tapestry. It told the story of a princess who falls in love with a neighboring prince while she's being held captive by a dragon. The girl manages to sneak past the dragon one day just to find that the dragon has claimed by her prince who had come to rescue her. So she takes up his armor and sword and slays the dragon herself.

She remembered how her mother used to huddle her and Arya close and relay the stories of the tapestries. She'd pet their hair and explain the morals in her soft voice, "Even if it isn't much, and it often isn't, a woman must use everything she is given in this world."

And she remembered little Arya, absentmindedly plucking at her own split hairs, simply responding, "If the world doesn't give a woman much, she should take more."

-.-.-

The tavern was dimly lit with just a few candles and a corner fireplace, the ale was somehow frothy and watery, and the patrons were far too chatty, but Lady Brienne of Tarth and her squire, Podrick Payne were weary after several long days of traveling on foot. She drank her watery froth and scanned the room for anyone who resembled a threat. She heard a creak and turned to see a bearded man pulling up a seat next to her. He was clad in pieces of armor and had fresh battle wounds, likely a soldier.

"I couldn't help but notice that you and your boy over there are dressed in southern clothes. Even overlooking that you are both dressed in _men_ 's southern clothes, m'lady, it seems rather strange that two southerners would be headed north as the weather worsens."

She ignored the stranger, half hoping he would get bored and leave her alone, half hoping he would give her a reason to smash his head to pieces.

The northern soldier leaned in closer than most would have dared to address the sizable lady who reluctantly sat next to him in the dim tavern.

"If you two were looking to join in the Battle of the Bastards, I'm afraid that's already been won by the true King in the North."

Brienne arched her eyebrow, it seems he was offering her the first piece of useful information in their mostly one-sided conversation.

"The King in the North? And who may that be?"

"Why, Jon Snow, of course. He may be a bastard, but I'd take him any day over those detestable Boltons. Amazing that that house could get anything done with the thick, round rods up their arses!" The soldier burst into raucous laughter at his own joke. The lady allowed him the moment because of the good news he offered with it.

"It was a mighty battle, I heard. Bolton boys and Stark boys hammering away at each other until they were just piles of bloody pulp."

Brienne blinked. "And you chose not to participate?"

"No, I—Ha, ha—I'm not the one at trial here, m'lady. You're a southern lady running around in drag with some boy. Now, I have a few theories about you— you two may be play performers fugitives, thieves or murderers in hiding. If that's the case, though, I'll wager there's a pretty reward on your heads." He stroked the arm of her armor. "I'll bet your armor alone is worth a mint."

"We are knights, sworn to duty by our lords and currently have a mission that I don't need to go about divulging to any tavern drunkard. Do you understand that?"

"Knights? That's likely." The man scoffed. "I'd sooner believe you and your trained monkey over there were whores."

A flash of metal was followed by a hard thump as Lady Brienne's knife was thrust into the narrow space between two of his fingers splayed out on the wooden table between them. "Watch your language when addressing a lady."

At this moment, her squire, Podrick Payne, darted over, brandishing his sword with the hopes of intimidating the drunk soldier.

The soldier's eyes darted between the young squire and the woman dressed in man's clothes.

Brienne yanked the knife out of the table, bringing it up to his throat. "How many horses did you say you came here with?"

"I didn't," The man gasped.

"And?"

"The black spotted stallion tied up 'round the back," He reluctantly let out as her knife pushed further into his neck.

"We appreciate your kind donation." Brienne dropped the knife to her side and hastily rushed out of the building to gather the horse.

Following suit, Pod scrambled and grabbed the wolfskin he had been drying over the fireplace and fled the premises after Brienne.

He wrapped the animal skin around his shoulders and shuddered under the sudden weight and warmth that enveloped him. "You were merciful in there, not to finish him." He hesitated a bit before adding on, "Besides, whoring is a noble profession. It's treacherous and—and strenuous, not to mention undeniably selfless. To be a whore requires bravery, talent, and skill. Disrespected, but very noble."

Brienne looked down at Pod and opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it immediately, ultimately deciding to let him have this one.

They mounted the stallion and took off. The air was so rigidly frozen in place they could hear wind whistling through it as they traversed the northern tundra on their way to Winterfell.

"It seems that the Starks have been right all along," Brienne said to her squire.

Winter has come.

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A/N: Hey party people! So that was chapter one, lotsa exposition, I promise a lot more will happen in later chapters. If you like it, leave a review please! Even if you just wanna say "hey," anonymously, I appreciate it. I'll try to post pretty frequently, though I'm writing the story out of order, so it may be a little sporadic.

One other note: this fic takes place in the TV show canon! (in case that wasn't apparent with the situations these characters are in)


	2. 2 - Trees & Conspiracies

2 - Trees & Conspiracies

"Sansa." Jon nodded in her direction.

"Jon." Sansa looked up at her brother, buried under layers upon layers of furs, he looked like a small-faced, dour chipmunk regally mounted on a fine horse.

"I do love dropping everything to sit on a horse for these formal welcomings." Jon kept his voice low, as he had learned the risk of ever complaining too loudly.

Sansa didn't look up at him, keeping her response just as subtle and disguising it by petting his horse. "The absolute least we owe these people is a few saddle sores."

"I agree, for Lady Brienne and Podrick Payne, but for the Cerwyns and the Hornwoods and the Harclays—whoever in the seven hells they are? Half these houses didn't even support us until we said the word 'feast.'"

"Some of them are despicable, yes. But we need all the support we can get right now. The north may have lost faith in the Stark name, but it's never forgotten it. Friendless kingdoms are weak kingdoms and weak kingdoms end quickly and in beheadings."

Finally, Lady Brienne and her squire, Podrick, rode in through the main gates, and were greeted with baskets of food, warm stoles, and some polite applause from those who had shown up empty-handed.

Podrick dismounted almost immediately and knelt before Jon and Sansa.

"Thank you for your service, Lady Brienne, Podrick Payne." Jon nodded toward each of them accordingly.

"I only wish we could have returned with armies, my lord—or, should I say, your highness. I heard news of your successes. If only I could've been there to see the demise of House Bolton myself."

"You have risked life and limb for us, we could ask no more of you." Jon diplomatically responded.

"Come," Sansa brought the pair toward a cluster of handmaids, "You must be exhausted. Let us get you settled."

-.-.-

Podrick sat alone that evening, sharpening and cleaning his sword on a bench-like root underneath a weirwood tree somewhere in the godswoods surrounding Winterfell.

He heard the soft crunch of boots moving through snow and looked around, quietly, desperately hoping he wasn't going to have to dirty his newly cleaned sword.

Sansa Stark emerged from the other side of the tree. "Apologies, I didn't realize anyone would be here."

"Your highness." Pod immediately stood up to bow in deference and dropped his clean sword. He let out a small groan.

She smiled slightly, Pod never ceased to amuse Sansa. "Oh no, you don't have to leave. I had just come out here to be alone for a while, but I suppose I could be alone with you."

"B-by all means," he gestured to the empty spot on the root next to him.

"I was just returning from a council meeting. Scouts are reporting flaming heart symbols popping up all around the winter town and Jon's advisors are assuming the worst."

"Conspiracy?" Pod picked his sword up off the ground and began dusting the snow and dirt clumps that now clung to it.

"Religious conspiracy. A Flaming heart is the insignia of the Lord of Light. Jon's reign is still new and unestablished so we must always be on the watch for any kind of and religious coups can prove especially dangerous." They all knew this. News of the south was pouring in bit by bit to Winterfell. Religious takeover, wildfire explosion, a capitol reduced to a crater, the king's suicide, and the death of Margaery Tyrell—the only speck of kindness in the Lannister hell that was King's Landing. The stakes had never been higher for keeping their hold on the north.

Sansa grew quiet, buried under heavy thoughts. Podrick recognized this and quickly moved to change the subject.

"We had a tree like this back at our manor home in the Westerlands. It wasn't weirwood, like—like this one, but it was big and thick and gnarly—good for climbing, you know? And we had a piece of rope we'd hang from the branches that my little cousins used to love swinging on. It's how we would spend all the afternoons in this summer. I'd climb up into the tree and tell them stories as they listened from below or swung on the rope."

"What kind of stories?"

"Oh, you know, adventures and romances, knights and ladies fighting off dragons and river monsters, rescuing innocents, saving kingdoms and the like."

"Tell me one. One that you used to tell the little cousins."

So he did. Still cleaning off his sword, pod began to tell the story of a knight who had a curse put on him by a witch that made it impossible for him to kill. As he realized his inability to kill would put his lord at risk, he renounced his knighthood and took to traveling the world. Once, in his travels, he came across a castle that was occupied by a ferocious talking dragon. The surrounding townspeople, having been terrorized by the dragon since it took the castle, sought out the knight's help, and, unable to slay the dragon, he instead hatched a plan.

That night, he waited for the dragon to fall asleep, then snuck into the castle and clipped off its wings. The dragon woke up the next morning unable to fly, it was understandably distressed and went around ramming into townspeople with her horns and threatening them with its sharp teeth so they'd tell it who clipped off its wings. Not a single person spoke up about the knight hiding in the castle, and when the dragon went to bed that night, the knight returned and filed down its horns and sharp teeth so they were just bony nubs. The dragon awoke and repeated the acts of the previous day, this time threatening the townspeople with its fire breath. But no one spoke of the knight, even as the dragon threatened to burn down the whole forest. So the next night as the dragon slept, the knight poured an ice potion down the dragon's throat. Normally, freezing a dragon's stomach would make it burst, but as his curse didn't allow him to kill, the potion extinguished the fire in the dragon's belly. When the dragon woke up the next morning unable to even breathe fire, it admitted defeat and left the castle.

Now, taking pity on the poor, defenseless creature, the knight asked if the dragon would accompany him on his journeys. The dragon agreed to be his steed in exchange for the knight's protection and the cursed knight and the wingless dragon went on to travel the world together in search of adventure.

The story was charming, wonder-filled in a tongue-in-cheek kind of way. A story only Pod could think up. It made Sansa happy, the way everything made sense, had a place, and wrapped up neatly by the end.

And Podrick watched the distant look in her eyes melt away, revealing something softer, a vulnerability she liked to keep hidden, an exposed nerve.

"That one was always Trinian's favorite."

Sansa looked at Pod as he finished cleaning his sword. He was always so focused on whatever he was doing, so present in the moment. She had always noticed that he did not do things halfway. He did not make promises he didn't intend to keep, say things with fingers crossed behind his back. He cared with all of his heart, no matter how susceptible it made him. It was new to her, to see a man who could love so much and ask for so little in return. Just a climbing tree and long summers to spend in it.

"Do you miss your family often?"

"Everyday, my princess."

She reached over to grab his hand. Both of them were wearing gloves, so there wasn't much warmth exchanged, but it was comforting nonetheless.

"I do too." Her eyes shifted to look at the thick, pillowy snow that stretched out before them. "Being back home is strange. I can't help feeling like the halls are full of ghosts where my family should be. I'm afraid Winterfell will never quite feel like home again without Bran climbing up the walls and Robb bossing people about and Rickon pulling on the hems of our dresses and Arya challenging our sewing mistress to duels."

He wasn't sure what to say to comfort her. It bothered him to see her in pain in this way, he had so long been sworn to her aid that he longed for her rare smiles, her elusive moments of happiness. His thumb rubbed across her gloved hand. "She's alive, you know."

Sansa looked up at him, water had gathered in the corners of her eyes, but she wasn't crying. She didn't cry much anymore. "I hope you're right, Pod."

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A/N: Thanks for reading, more should be coming soon!


	3. 3 - Pheasant Eggs & Pant Legs

3 - Pheasant Eggs & Pant Legs

It was a somewhat dreary day, Winterfell had seen nothing but cloudy skies and snow since the definitive arrival of winter. But Sansa and Podrick, who had begun to accompany her on meandering walks around the castle, were making the best of it.

This afternoon they were sitting in the sill of an open window that led out into the courtyard, exchanging stories and rumors and catching snowflakes as they fell. Sansa extended her hand through the courtyard window and watched the tiny white snowflakes collect in the palm of her black glove. Podrick was leaning against the opposite end of the window, picking at a loose stitch in his his pant leg. Sansa had news for him, news that could be received any number of ways, but, knowing Podrick and his tender heart, she was reluctant to reveal it. She wanted to tell him, not just because of the ways it directly affected him, but also because he had become an indispensable confidant.

"You'll ruin your pants if you keep picking away at them," she said, avoiding the subject.

A grin spread across his face as he looked up at her. "You sound like Lady Brienne. Er, I mean—apologies, princess."

Sansa let the snow fall out of her hand and carefully straightened out her dress. "Speaking of your lady, there is news from the east about an illness that may have struck Lord Selwyn of Tarth. If the news is true, I fear we may be losing Lady Brienne soon."

Pod's head stirred with the news. He was rather used to being uprooted at this point, but Lady Brienne returning home meant a drastic shift in what had become a comfortable arrangement. What use did a land-owning lady have for a squire? He shifted uncomfortably where he sat. "My lady is under oath to you and your family. I doubt she would abandon the north until she was certain it was safe for you."

"It would hardly be abandonment. The northern crown would fully support her pursuit of her inheritance should she choose to. Gods know she's earned it. I owe Lady Brienne more than my life."

"If anyone deserves the land and title, she does." Podrick conceded. "She's the best master I've had by far—well, for fighting, at least, your husband was good for teaching…other things. But Lady Brienne is one of the fiercest warriors I've ever seen in action and she doesn't give up on me, which is something I cannot say about past instructors. I once had a master who told me I fought like a sopping dog."

"Sopping? He didn't mean sodding?"

"No, I mean dogs typically are good fighters, except for when they're sopping I guess, they just get a bit distracted and, I don't know, chilly?"

Sansa laughed. "You fight gallantly. You and your lady fought off six Bolton men at a moment's notice, don't think I'd forget."

He blushed at the compliment, half amazed that she had paid any attention to his fighting. In his nervousness, he hadn't noticed that the loose stitch he had been pulling at had finally broken, starting a noticeable rip down his thigh.

Sansa giggled. "What did I tell you?"

Podrick looked deeply embarrassed and tried pulling the

She stood up promptly. "Come, we can return to my chambers and I'll mend it for you."

"You will mend the pants of a squire?" Podrick repeated, part incredulous, part dumbfounded.

Sansa's eyes flashed with something—not quite anger, maybe mischievousness? "Questioning my intentions?" She set off walking, her mind made. "I happen to like sewing, I always have. It takes my mind off of things."

Left without argument, Podrick set off after her, following her around corners, down long halls, all the while clutching the side of his pants so they wouldn't rip the whole way and silently praying that no one would see them. He kept pace, but always trailed slightly behind, as he liked watching Sansa walk. She always seemed to glide from place to place, the stride of a person who had earned their pride. They were nearing the entrance to her chambers when a third party joined them.

"Ah, Podrick, there you are," came a voice from behind them. The pair turned to see an older knight standing above them. Pod recognized him, but after a while, all the names and titles seemed to blend together. The man was tall, spindly, had a wispy brown mustache to match a thin, graying beard.

Lord Wispstache bowed to Sansa and tossed out a quick "your highness" before diverting his attention back to the squire. "Now, Podrick, it seems the cooks are worried about running low on meat for tonight's affair, so they're sending out a group of men to gather last minute provisions. Your lady volunteered you for this afternoon's hunt. It's a cursory trip, we'll be back before the feast with time to spare." He smiled and patted his knees before offering Sansa a brisk bow and shoving off to wherever Wispstaches go when their messages have been successfully delivered.

"It seems this is where I leave you, then, your highness."

"Thank you for your company," Sansa nodded toward him, and entered her chambers. "And Pod—do get those pants fixed before an animal exposes you to the whole world."

Podrick was left with these words and the look that had flashed through her eyes, like the inklings of an idea were forming.

-.-.-

The Northern nobles were at this time flooding into Winterfell, all except for the blatant traitor houses had come top officially pledge their fealty to Jon Snow.

It was almost time for the feast, as the sun was well on its way to setting, coating the snowcapped castle with a hazy pink glaze. The hunting troupe that had been sent out—two blacksmiths, a few former night's watch men, some lesser nobles' sons who just liked hunting, and a squire, hardly the most important men—were turning in the fruits of their hunt to the kitchens.

These kitchens were ablaze with excitement, cooks yelling orders, scullery maids attending to them, spices, batters, and fine meats being flitted around the kitchen in every direction. And at the center of all the chaos, decorated like a shimmering Dornish chapel, howling like a wounded dog, was the Lady Alayna Cassel, a woman who by all accounts refused to go unseen.

"—I said fresh, these have been sitting out all day! You can't deny it, you know I have been in and out of this kitchen all day and I know what I've seen."

She didn't seem to be lying as all of the kitchen staff seemed used to and tired of her constant wailing.

"You all do not seem to realize what is at stake for my daughter, for my family. This feast needs to be perfect if House Cassel is to continue to exist." Lady Cassel insisted, stomping her feet and pulling at the long ribbons of jewelry that decorated her neck.

Podrick passed off the birds he had caught to a worn-looking scullery maid and watched as Lady Cassel continued to showboat.

" _Pheasant eggs_? Are you trying to poison my Beth? Are you aware of how difficult it is to impress suitors while swollen red patches slowly consume your body?" The lady seemed to be speaking to no one in particular, but one brave soul offered a response.

"All due respect, m'lady, but Lady Beth does not have to eat every dish at the feast," came from a cook who didn't even take their eyes off the cauldron of stew they were stirring.

Lady Alayna then emitted a screech so high-pitch Pod swore he could hear a wolf responding in the distance.

She flew over to where the stew chef sat and in one swift swipe of her arm, knocked the cauldron off the fire and a pot of flour in. The kitchen fire burst upon the pot's impact, magnifying the fire into an inferno which began consuming other food items as it began working its way around the kitchen.

Pod then realized two things: first, that Lady Alayna could, in fact, emit an even higher-pitched screech, and second, that he knew the one person who may be able to stop her.

-.-.-

"I noticed you have been spending a good bit of your time with that Payne squire." Sansa sat patiently in the tub as Lady Beth massaged soaps out of her hair.

"He's an old friend. He was assigned to Tyrion Lannister while I was in King's Landing. He's..." Sansa grasped for the best words to describe Pod. "...heartbreakingly loyal."

"I think he's a sweet boy. And rather handsome."

"Really?" Sansa looked up at Lady Beth in slight incredulity as she had always been somewhat of a snob for title and never wanted to associate with someone of an inappropriate station. Sansa could not blame her, as she had acted much the same way before she witnessed the emptiness of titles.

"For a squire." There it was.

All of a sudden, there was a knock on the door. Before Lady Beth or Sansa could respond, it was promptly swung open by a frazzled-looking Podrick Payne. His eyes fell on the bathtub in the middle of the room and his immediacy froze into a tangible awkwardness.

"I am here to summon Lady Cassel to the kitchens, but I can see now that she is busy, so it should not be a problem. Don't worry yourself, Lady Cassel, good day."

"What is going on in the kitchens?"

"Well, your mother arrived and she may have been a little overzealous in her requests which may have upset the chefs and...and, um, the kitchen's on fire."

"Fire?" Beth asked in disbelief.

"FIRE!" Replied a screaming person who happened to be running past the room.

"Good gods, this is just like her. I'll take care of it. Hopefully I'll calm her down long enough for the housemaids to put out the fire." She turned to face Sansa for a second on her way out the door. "I'm incredibly sorry about the delay in your bath, Lady Sansa, I assure you I'll finish it when I get back."

"No need, I can finish it myself."

With that, Lady Cassel excused herself and ran off through the halls in search of her chaos-inspiring mother.

Pod too turned and had one foot into the hall when he heard his name.

"Podrick?" He turned around to see Sansa staring straight at him. "I need you. To clean my back."

His face must have revealed his surprise because she sighed and explained further. "I'd do it myself, but I have a…a wound back there that I need to make sure is well-cleaned."

Podrick shifted slightly where he stood in the doorway. "It really isn't proper, not to mention far beyond my skill set."

"Bathing is far beyond your skill set?"

"Rather, bathing others is."

"Are you saying you want to join me in here?"

"What I'm saying is, if someone saw me…"

"Well, then you'd better close the door." Sansa stated, growing impatient.

Podrick did as he does best and complied with orders. After carefully checking for onlookers and shutting the door, he dropped down onto his knees beside the tub and she handed him the cloth Lady Cassel had abandoned. As he took it from her, she grabbed his hand and looked him in the eyes. "Don't be nervous." Then she leaned forward and her hair followed suit, exposing her naked back. "You're just a squire attending to his lady."

He dipped the cloth in the soapy water and his eyes fell on the wound in question. Sure enough, there was a dark pink gash that ran diagonally across her back from her shoulder blade to her waist. It was mostly healed, but nasty nonetheless.

She could feel his eyes on her back. "A wedding present from my late husband."

He began going over the scar with the cloth and she slightly winced in pain. "It hurts to clean a wound," Podrick offered thoughtfully. "I've attended to many men—and Brienne—after battle and had every obscenity in the world screamed at me. If you think that cursing may help, feel free to. There's really nothing I haven't heard at this point."

"I think I'll pass, but thank you."

"I was in a skirmish a while back where Lady Brienne and I ran into Stannis Baratheon and a few of his men. We managed to off Stannis then and there, but not before one of his soldiers nearly sliced my arm open," He pulled up his sleeve to show her the thick band of scar tissue that ran across his arm.

"That's awful," Sansa's fingers traced it up his arm until their eyes met. She then turned to face him, her wet hair covering her chest. His eyes darted away instinctually nonetheless.

She placed her hand on his face and felt her heart's pace quicken as his eyes finally met hers. She liked his eyes, they felt warm on her, they made her feel safe.

"Thank you," she leaned across the tub's ledge and kissed him. Podrick was startled, but not to the point of pulling away. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her back, first her lower lip, then her upper lip, and then alternated accordingly. Her hand wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him in closer as she used the other to balance in the tub.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he broke it off. "What are you doing?"

Softly panting, she replied, "I'm not sure."

He stood up quickly, as if he wanted to leave the situation, but continued staring down on Sansa in the tub, as if the opposite was true. Sansa didn't look up at him, and instead stared straight ahead, just as confused as he seemed to be.

"I can take it from here," she said, pulling the washcloth from his fingers.

"Yes, your highness," Podrick nodded matter-of-factly. He finally moved away from her, stealing one last glance on his way out the door.

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A/N: So so sorry this took so long I've been crazy busy. I'll try to post more this upcoming week so look out! x


	4. 4 - Burnt Tarts & Indecent Proposals

4 - Burnt Tarts & Indecent Proposals

The feast went on as planned after Lady Beth managed to free the kitchen of her still-screeching mother, allowing the kitchen staff a chance to extinguish the fire. Much food was lost to the fire and a good portion of the food was singed in the incident, but, after dorm deliberation, it was served just the same. This was more a worry for the cooks and servants, as the lavishly dressed attendees of the feast did not appear to notice a thing. It was a time of major political upheaval in the seven kingdoms, and the nobles were not about to let a burnt tart keep them from ingratiating themselves with the new king. Everyone, with the notable exception of one particularly meddlesome Cassel who remained indignant as the pheasant eggs were brought out, chewed happily on even the most charred food and contributed to the buzz of conversation that hung over the hall.

Jon Snow sat at the end of the head table in an ornate, throne-like chair that he clearly felt very uncomfortable in, but his closest advisors sat near him and put him at ease. Although Lady Brienne, sitting at his right hand, seemed particularly bothered by something other than the blackened food and the falseness of the lords and ladies desperately vying for status. Just as the main courses were being brought out, he turned to her. "Enjoying the feast, Lady Brienne?"

"Yes, your highness," Lady Brienne nodded, though she appeared thoroughly distracted.

"Are you going to need any further provisions for your mission into the winter town tomorrow?" She was set to depart for the winter town in the morning to investigate and check for grounds to the rebellion rumors.

"I should be fine. Pod and I are all set to depart in the morning."

"Just you and your squire?" Tormund Giantsbane, who, last they had checked, had been sitting significantly farther down the table, suddenly was standing directly between them, interjecting into their conversation. "This is a dangerous mission, my lady, more dangerous than any of us may know. You will want backup."

"Pod is my backup," the lady answered decidedly, gesturing towards Pod, who, one table over, was emphatically trying to extricate a knife that had gotten stuck in some roasted fowl.

"You will want backup for your backup."

Lady Brienne looked over at Tormund and, as much as she hated admitting it, he was right. And even if he was wrong, he was expendable. "You may accompany us, Giantsbane."

"Fantastic. I will see you in the morning, m'lady." And just as suddenly as he had arrived, Tormund disappeared into some slightly burnt puddings.

Sansa was the only one still lingering on Podrick after Tormund's point had been made. She watched him stand to leave the feast and felt a sharp jolt in her stomach. She had to talk to him before he left with Brienne. She had to know what he meant.

Sansa excused herself and went off into the adjacent hallways. Right around the first corner she turned, she found him. "Pod," he turned around at the sound of his name. He bowed and greeted her as she approached. He looked rather striking, dressed up in fine clothes almost fit for a knight, scruffy hair combed back, neatly in place.

"About earlier, I apologize if I…startled you."

Pod nervously ran his hand through his hair. "No, of course not, my princess. I should apologize. _That_ was amazing, you are amazing. It's that…" he trailed off and his eyes met hers.

She could not quite figure out just what it was about him that transfixed her so much. Her hand in his, languid walks around the castle, stolen, less-than-chaste glances that set her insides on fire. It was completely mad that a timid boy not much older than herself could have this effect on her. She felt comfortable, at ease with him, like things were finally falling together rather than falling apart.

She couldn't let him go.

She continued walking toward him and he stepped back only to realize he was backed up against the wall behind him. Sansa noticed his reluctance. "You needn't be afraid of me, Pod."

He was now avoiding eye contact. "You are the wife of a lord I was sworn to. It's—it's dishonorable."

"A coerced, unconsummated union under seven gods that are not recognized in the north hardly qualifies as a legitimate marriage."

"Nothing would make me happier than being your consort, really, but we cannot, it isn't," he fidgeted where he stood as if someone were prying the words out of him. "...it isn't proper. It would, we would disgrace you."

Sansa faltered slightly. He was not wrong, while royal men could consort with just about whomever they pleased, the rules were wildly different for royal females. In that moment, though, Sansa could not bring herself to care about heir legitimacy or strategic marriage, she just remembered the feeling of his breath on her face, his hair tangled through her fingers, and she craved more of it. She took one step closer to him so they were almost touching and lowered her voice to a volume that eerily reminded her of Lord Baelish. "I could make things happen for you, Pod. You could be a knight. You could be kingsguard. I could give you land, money, you could start a new house under a new name."

Nonetheless, they both knew the gravity a scandal like this would carry. And there was no way anything between them could ever be legitimate. He couldn't offer the throne any advantageous alliance or land or money and they both knew her duty was first and foremost to the northern throne.

Her eyes imploringly bore into his, "We could be happy."

Pod pulled away from her and turned to continue on his way. He felt her hand slightly tugging on his arm and heard her speak in an even lower voice that was almost a whisper, "Consider it."

-.-.-

Upon returning to the feast, Sansa immediately turned to Lady Brienne.

"Lady Brienne, I wish to join you on your trip to the winter town tomorrow."

The lady narrowed her eyes in confusion and dismissed the princess. "It's much too dangerous, your highness. The revolt could be an entire religious revolution or

a loose collection of conspirators, but we don't know what to expect. And besides, you have ceremonial duties to attend to here for your brother's coronation."

Sansa's face appeared grim at the very mention of her continued duties.

"With all due respect, I have experienced enough court formalities to last me a lifetime and would rather eat a live rat than listen to another Mazin boy brag about his field dressing abilities. Please, Lady Brienne."

Brienne sighed then nodded her head. Nobody understood how oppressive and confining a lady's court life could feel better than Brienne of Tarth. Not without a healthy amount of worry, she conceded, "As her highness commands." Then quickly added, "We leave tomorrow at dawn."

Sansa smiled, "Rest well, my lady."


	5. 5 - Pine & Something Faintly Floral

5 - Pine & Something Faintly Floral

A/N: So I posted this chapter earlier but then inspiration hit and I had to rewrite it. So obligatory [edited] notice. I hope you enjoy it!

"Think about it," she had said. And Podrick had been thinking about it. In fact, he couldn't stop thinking about it, though he was entirely unsure what to think about it. They barely knew each other, though he begrudgingly admitted that added some excitement to it all. As if it wasn't exciting enough that a princess kissed him. And the kiss had been amazing. Gods know he wished it hadn't stopped there, but it had to. It just about physically pained him to pull away from her that day, but, as a squire, his duty always comes first.

But if she sat on the throne he was sworn to, does that not make following her desires just another duty?

Nonetheless, it certainly didn't help matters that Sansa had decided to join him and Brienne on their trip into the winter town. She was riding a smoky colored horse, following Brienne and Tormund closely, long red hair carelessly flipping about in the wind like she didn't know she was turning him insane.

They rode on for hours like this, Brienne leading the pack with Tormund never far behind, Sansa trudging along after them, and Pod taking up the rear while quietly stewing in his inner turmoil.

The quartet had become so settled in this pattern as the hours of travel through monotonous snow-white land rolled by, it really did catch them by surprise when Podrick's horse was struck down by an arrow. It fell down with a sudden, definite plop and left one of Pod's legs pinned under it. Three men emerged from the surrounding trees, looking bedraggled as anything in filthy clothes and torn capes, but holding fearsome, grotesquely mangled weapons no person would want to be on the wrong side of.

And Pod happened to be on exactly the wrong side of those weapons.

Brienne jumped off her horse and was immediately brandishing her sword.

The tallest one, a brutish, scarred-up bald man, addressed the group first. "Now, now, we don't want any trouble, ladies," he nodded toward Sansa and Brienne, "grandpa," he nodded toward Tormund.

"You lot just seem to have quite a few things that my lot would happen to benefit from," the bald man continued, weaving his way in between their horses to approach Brienne. He tapped her armor with the end of his weapon, a sword that bent halfway through so that the blade formed a hook. "Like this armor. Fine, isn't it? And your build is mannish enough, we might be the same size, don't you think?"

Brienne was ready to take his head off right then and there, but she turned her attention to focus on Sansa who was jumping off her horse and making a go for it into the trees.

"Get the girl!" The bald man commanded and the archer shouldered his bow and ran after her. Brienne swung for the bald man's throat, but he caught the blow on his sword. She tried again, but he once again caught her sword, nearly knocking it out of her hands.

The third man came after Tormund with some kind of spike-and-nail-laden spear device, but Tormund knocked him back onto the ground with a grand sweep of his sword.

All this gave Pod enough time to wriggle loose from beneath his horse and limp over to where his sword had fallen. The man fighting Tormund suddenly stumbled backward and Pod used this as his chance to strike. He drove his sword in through the man's abdomen and out again, just as cleanly. Tormund then jumped into Brienne's sword fight with the bald man as Pod turned his attentions toward the archer who was approaching with a struggling Sansa in his arms.

"You let her go!" Pod shouted, trying to hide his limp.

"Why? Is she of some value? Why, I bet this dress alone could feed my family through the winter." As the man got closer, Pod saw that held a blade against Sansa's neck. "You're going to want to drop that sword, boy."

His grip on the sword tightened with anger, but he brought the sword down, holding it at his side.

"Leave her out of this. What is it you want? Food? Armor? We can supply you with these, just let go of her."

"Think you can talk your way out of this, boy?" That was, incidentally, exactly what he thought. Though the archer didn't seem like he would respond well to negotiation. His demeanor was frantic, strung out, his voice reeked of desperation. This was why the knife at Sansa's throat frightened Podrick so much. Any twitch, any random movement from this man who clearly had very little left to lose, and all could be lost. He watched the blade tremble against Sansa's neck and his uselessness angered him. He lifted his sword again, just wanting to do something about it.

"What did I say? Put that sword down!" Were the last words before the archer's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground like a ragdoll. Brienne, positioned behind him, pulled her sword out of the back of his neck as Sansa ran free from his grasp.

It was quiet for a moment, as the blood of three men and one noble horse leaked out into the pristine white snow. The snow would be their resting ground and the snow would be their burial. Maybe they would be found one day when it all melted into a balmy summer once again.

"Look," Pod crouched down next to the body of the bald bandit and pulled at a brass ornament on his raggedy cape. "Flaming hearts insignias."

"Do you think..." Sansa leaned over to examine the insignia closer.

"This could be the rebellion's doing? If this is and this is the best they could do, they surely hold no real threat to the throne. But I guess we'll never know now," Brienne answered, mounting her horse. "But, it's for the best, they have slowed us down enough for one day. We need to continue if we want to reach the winter town today."

They all mounted their horses on those words. Pod, no longer having his own live horse, approached Sansa's smoky stallion.

"Where are you going?"

"I assumed I would be riding with…" he trailed off, gesturing in Sansa's direction.

"The princess? For god sakes, Pod, why on earth would you assume that?," Lady Brienne tapped the back of her saddle impatiently. "You'll be riding with me."

Pod blushed a deep shade of red as he lumbered onto the back of Brienne's horse.

The bandits had taken up a good bit of their travel time that afternoon and between that and the heavy snowfall slowing the horses, the winter town was still out of reach by the time evening hit.

"It's getting dark," Tormund called ahead to Brienne. "We'll need to find a place to settle for the night."

Brienne kept looking onward while answering. "We are not far from the winter town, I assure you."

"At this rate, it will be hours before we arrive." The wildling insisted. "All due respect, m'lady, but you have not experienced winters the way I have experienced winters. You don't travel after dark unless your life depends on it. And even then, it's more likely you'll fall on the losing side."

Brienne turned to face him now, mildly annoyed. "What do you expect? A castle full of friendly lords to just pop out of the ether?"

"Well, it's no castle, m'lady," Pod interjected, pointing to a small wooden structure obscured by snowfall in the distance.

-.-.-

The small farm house Pod had spotted was rotting and long-abandoned, but at least it meant they didn't have to bargain for their stay. They lay bundled up under capes and furs that offered warmth, but little padding against the wood board floors. Brienne had adjusted to these conditions over the past few years of traveling and was able to fall asleep almost as quickly as Tormund, who the entire crew was certain could make a bed out of broken rocks. Pod, however, was experiencing some difficulty.

Difficulty in the form of a completely restless princess who lay no more than an arm's length away from him. She looked so impressive under the moonlight leaking in from a small hole in the roof. She stood out regally against the backdrop of the dim little house, snowflake-speckled hair spilling out around her, clashing against the dark furs she was curled up under.

"Still awake, your highness?" The title seemed almost sarcastic when addressing a person curled up on a rotting wood floor.

"I'm wondering about the people that used to live here. How long do you think it's been since they left?"

"I'm not sure."

"It must be a marvelous power," she said, still staring through the hole in the roof, "to be able to just up and leave one day to wherever one wants." Sansa rolled onto her side to face him. It was strangely intimate, lying on the floor next to her. "That's what Arya did, I hope. And Bran. I like to think they're out traveling the world having these amazing, revolutionary adventures like the ones in your knight stories. I have to stretch my imaginations a bit more for Bran's travels, but who's to say he can't train his direwolf to carry him around?"

"Fair point." Pod shivered.

"Are you cold?" Sansa asked.

"Erm, no," he lied.

"Here, you can have this." She insisted, pulling a cloak out from her pile of coverings.

"Thank you," Pod said, eschewing his fake, manly tolerance of cold to accept the thick cloak that smelled like pine and something faintly floral, still warmed from her body heat.

"What is it keeping you awake, then?"

Pod smiled bashfully. "Do you not realize how distracting you are?"

Sansa rolled her eyes and chose to take that as a compliment.

"D-do you really not feel the cold?"

"You grow accustomed to it, I assume. Almost to the point where you begin to miss it. And the familiarity grows priceless after you've been away for some time."

"I imagine," Pod tried not to breathe in the scent of her cloak. It was almost manipulatively infatuating. "I mean, this is hardly the most pleasant situation we're in now, but I still feel like someday I'll look back on this and wish I could go back to this moment."

"Me too, Pod." She inched across the floor closer to him and rested her head against his shoulder. He felt nice and warm, she didn't know what he was complaining about.

"Pod?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want you to go." He looked down to see her looking up into his eyes. "Should Lord Selwyn take a turn for the worst and Brienne inherit Tarth, I want you to stay in the North. I can knight you and you can serve House Stark at my side. It isn't an order, I just wanted you to know that I'd like you here, with me."

With those words, she finally fell asleep. Pod, however, was unsure if he would ever be able to sleep again.

.

.

.

.

A/N: Sorry the updates are taking forever, I promise there's a whole lot more coming…and soon!


	6. 6 - Holy Wars & Tavern Whores

6 - Holy Wars & Tavern Whores

The next morning, they reached the town not long after sunup. It was clear the winter had not been kind to its namesake town. A thin layer of ice seemed to rest on every surface, some buildings had been blown over by storm winds, and much of the town had been abandoned by now. The group wasn't having much luck finding anyone in the town, much less people bearing the Lord of Light's symbol. Eventually, though, they arrived at the one place they were certain to find people.

The tavern wasn't quite packed, but it was keeping a healthy flow of the winter town's best and brightest flowing in and out like drunken fish. The quartet led their trio of horses to a hitching post and dismounted.

"There's one already," Tormund said in a brusque murmur that barely escaped his unwieldy beard. He poked his chin in the direction of a man entering the tavern. He wore the symbol on a long necklace that draped down onto his torso.

There was something oddly familiar about this man, though. Brienne couldn't quite figure out just what was making her so uneasy about this man until he pulled back his hood, revealing a pronounced, scraggly beard.

"Gods," Brienne cursed under her breath. "That man won't give us any information."

"Why not?" Inquired Sansa

"It's a bit of a long story, but it ends with us...appropriating his horse," Pod gestured toward the spotted stallion Brienne was hitching to the post.

"You're still riding it?"

"It is a fine horse," Brienne defended with a huff. "It's my fault, I should've realized he would be a regular at this tavern. He certainly smelled like he bathes in their brews. Well, he won't give Pod or I any information, so that leaves…"

Tormund and Sansa exchanged a look.

"Oh, gods," muttered Brienne. "This will be fine. Princess, pull up your hood. And Tormund," she tried flattening his unwieldy hair down with her palm. It stuck out horizontally, but appeared halfway presentable. "There. You are a soldier headed south for the winter to find work in, I don't know, mining. And you're his daughter, there so the men will be less likely to break out into a fight before we're able to find anything out. Pod and I will hide out in the darkest part of the tavern. We'll be there in case anything goes wrong, but otherwise, we'll be trying to make ourselves scarce."

Sansa and Tormund entered the bar first, followed closely by Brienne and Pod who snuck into a booth at the back of the tavern, close enough so they could jump into action if needed, but far enough away so that hopefully the soldier wouldn't notice them.

Beneath their heavy hooded robes, Sansa and Tormund were also hoping to go unrecognized, though this tavern was hardly home to the kind of crowd that was familiar with nobility, be it Westerosi or wildling.

"Excuse me," Tormund gruffly grunted in the direction of the soldier. Sansa shot him a pointed look. The soldier didn't seem to notice, though, as he looked at Tormund with apathy so complete he couldn't have possibly picked up on anything particularly feral.

"…Sir." The soldier hadn't put down his pint since they had approached. He seemed to be paying attention, nevertheless.

"We're traveling south to work in the mines," Tormund continued. "Might you know the best way for us to reach the Westerlands?"

The soldier looked at them and, putting down his pint and wiping his face off on his shirt sleeve, spat on the floor between their two barstools. Sansa's smile shrank, but she still did her best to appear utterly charmed.

"Westerlands…that's Lannister land."

"That it is. But pay is pay." Tormund shrugged and cautiously drank from the pint of ale that had been stationed in front of him for quite some time. The argument wasn't the most convincing, but he hoped it might land.

"Who's that with you?" The soldier gestured in Sansa's direction.

"My daughter. I'm not about to let her freeze up here while I'm sunning myself seaside." Tormund shot him a sunny smile and, in an attempt at a loving gesture, his arm landed around Sansa's shoulders with a thud. Just glad her back didn't break from the gesture, she gave the soldier a charming smile.

The soldier looked between the two robed figures. "Aye, she's your spitting image."

Sansa's smile was now entirely forced.

"Can't have her freezing now." He carried on drinking, but this time he appeared more morose than disinterested.

"Do you have any daughters of your own?" Sansa inquired—somewhat boldly for tavern conversation.

The soldier glanced over at Sansa and appeared somewhat shocked. But he nodded. "Two. They've since gone to be with the Lord of Light, but at least I know they're safe now."

Sansa exchanged a look with Tormund. It appeared they were less subtle than they intended, as the soldier noticed and tried explaining himself immediately.

"See, I know this is Old Gods country, but—"

"No, no." Tormund interjected. "We just…didn't realize there were fellow followers of the Lord of Light here."

The soldier cocked an eyebrow and leaned in. "Plenty, if you know where to look."

-.-.-

A hand gently grazed Brienne's shoulder. "Well, hello there, tall, blonde, and handsome. Fancy a ride?"

"I'm fine, thank you miss," Brienne said, quickly dismissing the whore who was blocking her view of Sansa and Tormund.

The whore squinted her eyes at Brienne. "Your voice is awfully high, sir."

"That's because that's not a man, that's a lady," another chimed in, none too subtly.

"Oh, gods, I apologize, m'lady," The first whore curtsied.

"Look at this one!" The second whore began petting Podrick's hair. He blushed. "You're a good-looking boy, aren't ya? What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Don't—" Brienne tried to interrupt.

"Podrick Payne," he answered immediately.

"Podrick Payne!" The first whore gasped audibly.

"Keep it down, _please_ , ladies." Brienne implored.

"Oh, we have heard stories about you. Mylisa over there, she's from the King's Landing region, but she came up following a soldier who had promised to wed her. Fat lot of good that did her, now she's stuck up here with the rest of us, making half what she did working for Lord Baelish. She will be delighted to know _you're_ here, though." The girl cupped her hands around her mouth and called across the tavern to her friend. "Mylisa, get over here, you'll never believe who it is!"

Brienne flinched, hoping no one would notice them behind the shouting whores.

Sansa looked over her shoulder to see the small army of whores that had gathered around Podrick. Her face colored in minor annoyance and she quickly turned back to resume her and Tormund's act.

"It's a building—none too hidden on the edge of town right past the shoemaker and the fat butcher. Head east, you can't miss it."

Tormund stood on those words and shook the man's hand rather forcefully. "Thank you, my good man. You have been a great help to me and my daughter."

As they walked away from the bar area, Sansa turned to face her fake father. "Very convincing, Tormund. You're a regular Westerosi."

He laughed a belly laugh. "Let's not go that far." Then his laugh stopped and he added, "Really, let's not."

They heard a small cry from beyond the wall of whores crowded around the corner of the tavern they were passing. Brienne's head popped through their human barricade. "Did you get the information?"

Tormund scratched at his beard, a bit puzzled by all the attention Brienne and Pod were getting. "We did. Say goodbye to your friends, Little Poddy."

The whores then began to dissipate with cries of "Lovely meeting you!" and "Come again soon!" until there was just one left sitting in his lap.

She tapped him on the chin. "You come back soon and I'll give you a go for free. It'll be nice to fuck someone so young and handsome for once."

Podrick's face was a bright crimson as he watched her walk away. Sansa thought how ridiculous he looked just then before realizing that her face, too, was burning up. She quickly put her hood up to hide her face.

Luckily, Brienne's complete intolerance for nonsense drove them out of the pub immediately. "Come along, we must be swift if we wish to make it there before nightfall."


	7. 7 - Fish Salesmen & Unwelcome Visitors

A/N: I know this took forever and I'm sorry. The story is finished, I just need to get all the details fleshed out and school is killing me. Bear with me, folks.

-.-.-

7 - Fish Salesamen & Unwelcome Visitors

"He doesn't look fat to me," Tormund noted, squinting his eyes to better examine the man dressing rabbit carcasses outside a small shop in the distance.

"Well, maybe he's not the butcher," Sansa piped in. "He could be a son or apprentice."

Pod's eyes flit back and forth at the few pedestrians passing them and he wondered if they were making too much commotion. They were already a conspicuous bunch, riding their horses through the snow-caked streets. Winter had just began, but its effects were prominent in the winter town. Mostly, what was left of the town's rapidly thinning population were those who couldn't afford to leave. Desperate people left behind with little more than the most basic of essentials. The motivations of the forest thieves were becoming clearer with each person they passed. He reached into his pocket and fingered the ornament he had taken off the bald one's person.

Tormund did not seem to be feeling the same reservations. "Butcher's apprentice? Is that honestly something you have in Westeros? It's chopping meat. Meat. It's dead."

Sansa refused to indulge him. "Regardless, it's the first butcher we've seen next to a shoemaker and we're running out of town to search."

"The princess is right," Brienne nodded in the direction of the establishments. "Keep a look out, men."

As they rode closer, a narrow alley unfurled before them from behind the unfairly nicknamed butcher's shop.

"We'll have to leave the horses here," Tormund noted in regards to the alley's size. He locked eyes with Sansa. "You too, your majesty. There's no knowing what could be back there."

"I couldn't possibly be any safer out here," Sansa eyed some of the people lining the street who looked as if they were deciding whether she or her horse looked tastier.

"Fair point." Tormund scratched his beard. "Brienne will stay with you."

Brienne did not even bother looking up. "Tormund will stay with you."

"I will stay with you," Tormund said, nodding as he hitched his horse to the butcher-of-average-weight's shop.

And so Brienne and Pod ventured into the dim little alley, hands on their sword hilts, alerts on high, while Tormund and Sansa waited at the edge of the alley, watching them disappear.

It was really only a moment before a door violently swung out before them, revealing a small, white-haired, troll-like man behind it. He was so distracting, they almost missed the flaming heart insignia that was emblazoned on the door. The pair exchanged a look. Brienne cleared her throat and turned to the man trying to get past them.

"Excuse me there, sir, I was wondering if you could help us. From one soldier to another—"

"I'm no soldier, I'm a fish salesman."

"A fish salesman?" Brienne of Tarth stopped in front of the bedraggled old man and towered over him. "Where in the seven hells are you finding fish out here?"

The man considered this for a moment. "Business has been slow lately."

"Nevermind all that. We'd like to know about the establishment you just left—the one with the flaming heart insignia on the sign."

"Ah, okay then, if you must know, it's a meetin' house."

"And who meets in the meeting house?"

"Oh, we got all sorts that show up, especially more of late. She's been drawin' larger and larger crowds and you know why? It's 'cause she tells the truth. She predicts things with her bones and her blue fires and they come true."

"We know, missus, we know the truth," the man smiled, revealing an ersatz row of chipped, blackened, or altogether missing teeth.

"What truth do you speak of?" She responded, unflinching.

"The rightful heir to the throne—" Brienne felt her stomach knot up. The insurrection rumors had to be true.

"The white wolf bastard himself, Jon Snow."

Brienne dropped her hand from where it had come to rest on her sword hilt, an utterly confused expression plastered on her face. She immediately realized how she must look and composed herself. "Yes, the King in the North. And he deserves to be respected as such."

"No, no, the true ruler of the seven kingdoms. The heir to the iron throne. The priestess has foreseen it in her blue fires."

"Priestess." The word was cold in Brienne's mouth and sat in between the two for a time like a pile of ash.

The man paused a moment to see if she would continue, and then responded. "Yes, she's a weird old broad that one. She knows all sorts of futures and predictions because the Lord of Light grants her magical abilities so she can show us regular folk His ways."

"Where is she?"

"Hold on a second now, how can I be sure I can trust you lot?"

"We're one of you." Pod interjected, stepping toward the man brandishing a small flaming heart medallion. The fish salesman yanked the medallion from his hand and inspected it carefully before pocketing it.

He looked Pod up and down, inspecting him just as thoroughly. "You mean you're a follower. You can't possibly be one of me as there is only one of me and I am fairly sure I'm certain of who that is."

"Right. Of course." Pod nodded, confused for several reasons. "Now, where is she." He squared up with the weird little man. This was not a question.

"How in the hells should I know? Woman's magic, she is. She could be in there like she was when I left or she could be halfway to another world by now."

Brienne doubted they were going to get much useful information from the troll-man. She let Pod continue the conversation as she drew her sword and walked through the insigniated door. The door fed into a haphazardly-constructed hallway that was most likely an alley itself not too long ago. The only source of light came from an open archway a while down the hall and obscured by a thin layer of smoke that thickened as she approached the light source. Careful to keep herself hidden in the shadows, Brienne peered inside the room. A hearth was nestled in the middle of the large room and a small group men huddled around it, their eyes fixed on, sure enough, a blue fire, constrained by magic—or some other force so as to not consume the whole slipshod structure. The man closest to the fire was standing on a box and appeared to be in the middle of a very impassioned speech.

"Brought back to life through the effort of the priestess Melisandre, by the mercy of the Lord of Light, to lead us through the coming winter." His body was shaking with every word, beads of sweat dripped down his face—though that might've been attributed to his closeness to the flames. "A king in the north to fight for us—to serve us, his followers. Those who believe and act in His will. Those who serve will survive."

-.-.-

Sansa brushed off the layer of snow that was starting to collect on her horse's mane. She wondered how much longer Pod and Brienne would be and when would be appropriate to try to send in a rescue mission. Tormund had since gone in to the butcher's shop to purchase some provisions and, most likely, inquire about the fat butcher.

"What are you doing here?"

She was grabbed by the arm and yanked into facing the gruff voice's owner, a tall, burly man with a thick beard and a torso as thick as a tree.

"Replenishing our meat supply, sir. The hunt's been sparse since winter has come," she answered, unfazed.

The man was wholly unconvinced and the grip of his leathery hands tightened on her arm. She stared him down, unflinching. He leaned in so close the ends of his beard scraped her face. "You're not safe here, Sansa."

Upon saying these words, he flung her back into her horse and stormed off down the back alley.

Not a moment later Tormund came around the corner, arms piled with skinned rabbit. "I got dinner."

-.-.-

Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the men surrounding the fire. "One day," the box-man started again and his audience quieted. "We have one day and one night left before our king's coronation. One day and one night left to deliver our lord's final sacrifice to his high priestess. And once this final blood has spilt, the white wolf's prophecy will be fulfilled!"

There were some cries of "hear, hear!" and the like.

"Now, who will we find to fulfill the prophecy? Who must die so our king can rise?"

"The red-haired maiden!" They called in a well-rehearsed response.

The box-man laughed and threw a powder into the roaring blue fire. It flickered ferociously and conjured forth the image of a woman, Melisandre, facing down a second woman, tied around her wrists and ankles, the sacrifice. The red-haired maiden. Sansa Stark.

Brienne felt a heavy hand weigh down upon her shoulder. A voice whispered, "Leave. Now." She swiftly turned and lifted her sword to the burly man's neck. He just sighed. "They outnumber you in there. It's best you keep me on your side." And for whatever reason—the imminent danger, the the honesty in his eyes—she listened to him, sheathed her sword, and ran.


	8. 8 - Dragons & Starlight

8 - Dragons & Starlight

They settled for the night at an Old Gods monastery, the only place Brienne was certain they could avoid Melisandre's followers. The scholars there allowed them to house Sansa in a small, windowed keep in the highest part of the building's single tower. Tormund stationed himself at the gates as a lookout and tried to convince Lady Brienne to join him. If he hadn't phrased it as "How'd you like to spend the night with me?" she would've been more inclined to accept his offer, but instead, she posted herself on a stool outside Sansa's door and Podrick sat beside her.

The night crept on slowly, no one truly understanding the hasty explanations behind Brienne's rush to hide the princess away. Something about a curse? Or a prophecy? Nonetheless, they understood that their situation was precarious.

"Did you hear that?"

Pod jostled himself out of his half-asleep state. "What—hear what?"

Brienne was already standing at attention. "Rustling…or, or…footsteps, maybe. I'll have to investigate."

"I'll go check on that. You stay here and guard the princess." And with that, she left to investigate. And Guarding the Princess was going fine. The gravity and the pressure of Guarding a Princess currently being hunted down by an all-knowing priestess hells-bent on killing her had not affected him at all. He heard a soft thump from inside the room and jumped up, brandishing his sword.

"Sansa? Are you okay?"

Sansa was picking a prayer book up from off the floor. "Fine, Pod. I couldn't sleep, so I thought reading might help."

He sheathed his sword and a huge wave of relief hit him.

Podrick paced the room for a moment. That was about as long as you could pace the room for as its dimensions were not far off from a large cupboard. The bed sat on one side of the room and nearly touched the plain wooden desk on the opposite side.

"Tell me another story. Do you have any more about the cursed knight?"

"I came up with a new one recently, actually." Sansa settled into the bed and Pod sat beside her in the desk chair.

So, many years into the pair's journey together, the dragon fell sick. It began moving slower, more painfully, and its scales sloughed off whenever the knight tried to comfort it. The knight searched the countryside far and wide for a cure for his companion, traveling for weeks and weeks as he watched the dragon grow weaker. One night they were traveling through some seaside cliffs and the dragon led him into a cave that could provide shelter for the night. Not long after they had entered, though, the caves shook around them and they returned to the entrance to find it blocked.

They remained in those caves for nine cold nights, searching for a way out and trying to unblock the passage. On some level, they knew these would be the last moments they had together, so even if they were spent in a damp, dark cave, they were treasured. And after a few days spent in the cave, the dragon went to sleep, never to wake up again.

When the knight finally made his way out of the cave, he saw that all the lands around them had been completely devastated by a harsh winter storm. He realized his loyal companion must have sensed the coming storm, and led him into the caves for his protection, even if it meant sacrificing its own chances of survival. The knight etched the dragon's name into the side of the cave to mark his friend's final burial place and it holds that name to this very day: Balaur. In the final moments of the dragon's life he had demonstrated true bravery, venturing forth into the unknown, powered only by love for his friend.

"A true friend. Much like you, Podrick," she reached out to rest her hand on the side of his face.

"It was brave, like you. You're probably the bravest person I've ever known, Sansa Stark. And I mean it. Kings? Warriors? They just don't know any better. Nobody knows the extent the cruelty of man can reach better than you and still you fight back. That's bravery."

"Or foolishness."

Pod shrugged. "Call it what you want, it's admirable."

On those words, he stood up to leave, but just as he reached the door, he heard feet softly hit the ground.

"Wait."

He turned around and she was standing inches away.

Behind her expression was something she wasn't saying. He could feel her breath as it hit his face, the space between them palpable.

He swallowed. "What do you want to do, Princess?"

"I want to kiss you again." They stood in silence, still staring each other down. Pod slowly moved his hand up to touch her face. Taking that as his acceptance, she closed the space between them and, tangling her hands in his hair, kissed him fiercely on the mouth. Podrick let his hands fall to her waist and felt her skin, warm and soft beneath her thin night robe.

After a few moments, she began kissing his neck, allowing him to speak again. "And what else?"

Her breath was heavy on his neck, her voice laden with urgency. "I want to touch you." Pod began pulling off his clothes, tossing armor pieces and weapons all to the side until he wore just his underclothes. She slid her hand under his undershirt and helped him pull it up over his head, then ran her hands all over his torso, feeling every scar, every muscle.

"And what else?" He asked, running his hands down her thighs.

"And I want you…I want you…" she lost her train of thought to whatever he was doing with his fingers. Instead of finishing her sentence, she leaned into him, pushing him into the chair behind them.

She wrapped her arms around him and began kissing his neck again as she slowly lowered herself onto him. He heard a sharp intake of breath and felt her teeth dig into his neck.

Pod couldn't help himself anymore. He picked her up and carried her to the bed.

-.-.-

"M'lady," Tormund addressed Brienne as she approached.

"I had heard something—a horse whinny or possibly a person crying out. All is right?"

"Haven't noticed a thing out here."

"I thought I'd heard something—horses, maybe."

"None so far as I can see," Tormund shrugged.

Brienne sighed and stood beside him. "I suppose it will help my piece of mind if I take the watch out here."

"If you think that's what's best."

There was a silence between them for some time. Both of them were fine with silence. It could have gone on all night, all through the next day, on into eternity. But Tormund broke it eventually.

"Is it true that you may be leaving Winterfell sometime soon? Got an inheritance to collect?"

"While it's true that my father is dying," Brienne shot him a sharp look. "House Tarth will be given to a Tarth cousin, as I am an unmarried woman who he presumes is unlikely to produce an heir. As father is certain the house would die out with me at the helm, and that my 'senseless fight-picking' is indicative of an early death, he has decided to fully circumvent me for the seat." She remained stolid while relaying this information, but she did not bother to hide the pain in her eyes.

Tormund pulled at his beard. "It's a shame. You would have made a great ruler. But—fuck 'em—you make an even better warrior." Her face reddened at the compliment. "You're a sight in the starlight, Lady Brienne."

The lady rolled her eyes. A piece of Tormund's beard had somehow gotten stuck between his teeth. She wondered how he didn't notice such a thing.

"I mean it, m'lady. You have beautiful eyes, powerful. Like you could walk into any room and command it."

He placed a hand on her arm. "And your shoulders, broad, bestial, you could pin down any man you'd like." He gave her a devilish look. "I hope to never be on the wrong side of them."

Brienne blushed, it was difficult for her to believe he was in earnest, but she wanted to.

"You have beard in your teeth, Giantsbane."

"What, where?" He asked, beard flapping about, but never quite dislodging itself.

"Can you honestly not sense it in there?" She thought for a second how horrible it must be to have a beard and thanked the gods for her lack of a need to shave. Anyway, taking pity on him, she reached for the awry piece of beard and pulled it out of his mouth. "There you are."

"There I am," he agreed, smiling a hair-free smile. She smiled back in spite of herself. He was kind of handsome in a roguish, wild, unbathed kind of way.

It was at this precise moment when a yelp was heard, small, and from a great distance, but it rang out sharp in the otherwise quiet night.

"The princess." Brienne turned on her heel immediately and drew her sword, running toward the room they had left her in with Tormund plodding along behind her.

They flung open the door to find the window wide open and Sansa nowhere in sight.

Podrick, however, was lying on the floor with his clothes strewn about him. Brienne approached him, shaking her head and cursing under her breath.

"Half-naked and passed out cold." Brienne sighed. "I have come to expect nothing less from my squire."


	9. 9 - Death & the Starks

A/N: I'm not going to lie, this semester has been kicking my ass. Here it is, all these months later, as an early nondenominational holiday present to you all, the final chapter.

* * *

9 - Death & the Starks

Ropes dug into Sansa's wrists and ankles as the northern princess was carried through the snow in the impossibly sized arms of Melisandre's largest minion.

"I told her you weren't safe," the gruff whisper barely escaped his thick beard. He shook his head. "You should have ran, gone further, found…adequate protection."

Or less distracted, anyway. The soldier seemed genuinely worried for her, but overall, he just seemed tired. It was clear that, just like her, he had been away from home a long while. Sansa wondered who this man was, perhaps an old guard at Winterfell, a friend of her father's, or someone who had known her as a child. "Who are you?"

His eyes darted down to hers for a moment, just long enough to acknowledge the question, but not long enough to betray any information. "A man never reveals his secrets." He stopped in his tracks. Sansa looked around and saw that they had finally arrived, after walking for the better part of an hour, at a pyre, built at least 15 feet tall. Excessive for all purposes but ceremonial. The sight of the looming, splintering wood plastered against a bleak snowy white was enough to send Sansa into a cold sweat. Panic set in and she struggled against her restraints, but the knots held fast and she began to bleed from the chafing.

The raiding party began to meld with the group around the pyre and Melisandre emerged, holding one of the several torches that lit the dismal scene. The crowd quieted and in the hush all that could be heard was the ominous crackling of fire that added no warmth to the situation. "Hommel," Melisandre said, intent set on the man holding Sansa's body. "Carry her to the pyre."

But the man didn't carry her to the pyre. Instead, he put Sansa down on the ground and approached Melisandre. "I will take her no further."

"Your men need to eat, Hommel." Melisandre stated simply and unflinchingly towards the man three times her size.

"My name," the man said, "is Arya Stark." He drew his sword and pressed the side of the blade against Melisandre's neck, then moved as if to pull off a mask and suddenly his face transformed from that of a gristled, middle-aged man to that of a gristled teenaged girl—a face that unmistakably belonged to Arya Stark.

Sansa's dread immediately turned to joy as she recognized her long-lost little sister, alive and at someone's neck. After all this time apart, it seemed nothing had changed.

Melisandre was frozen against Arya's blade, still appearing as calm and regal as ever. Arya leaned in and whispered something into the red woman's ear. Melisandre responded to her whisper, "Gone to see the Lord of Light."

With this response, she tensed and then slit Melisandre's throat, watching as her mouth gaped open in hopeless pursuit of air. And in one clean, calculated sequence, Arya pushed her crumbling body into the pyre set up behind her, grabbed a torch from the hands of one of Melisandre's dazed soldiers, and set the pyre ablaze.

Arya then turned around to face the rest of Melisandre's men and, gesturing to the burning pyre, asked if any of them would like to join their leader in meeting the Lord of Light. The soldiers all promptly fled.

Her little sister, illuminated by the glow of the burning witch, was a sight, swallowed up in her worn soldier's armor, face glistening with sweat as her shorn-short hair blew gaily in the winter chill. She wasn't quite a knight in shining armor, but she was close.

Arya walked over to her sister and, after cutting the rope binding Sansa's hands, was immediately smothered by a flash of red hair. Sansa pulled Arya to her chest and held the warm little body she remembered from what felt like so long ago. Tears streamed down Sansa's face as she repeated her sister's name over and over again through shaky sobs. In spite of herself, Arya hugged her sister back, reassuring her, "It's okay. I'm home."

-.-.-

"And there he was, one of the most feared men in all of Westeros, begging me to kill him." Arya couldn't remember the last time she had worn such clean clothing. It felt so miraculous against her also-clean skin that it didn't even matter that it was her sister's gown. She did allow herself to feel slightly shafted that she had to share her horse with Sansa, though it did make it easier to regale her with the stories of her travels and see her horrified reactions up close. "I owed the man absolutely nothing, though, so I left him to die on the rocks."

Sansa patted her sister's hair and found a stray clump of mud. The monks had been so kind to offer their bathing facilities to them this morning, but it would take dozens of baths to remove the grime Arya had accrued over the years. She would be sure to let Podrick know. "Arya, that is horrifying."

"You have no appreciation for quality revenge."

"I have more appreciation than you know, little sister," Sansa said, picking more mud out of Arya's tangled hair. Before she had time to go into detail, though, they realized they were approaching Winterfell and their excitement overcame them.

There was quiet as the gates fell and the the strange little party rode into vision with one fewer horse and one more person than they had left with. Even with all the years of wear and tear and growth (and grime and dirt), Jon immediately recognized Sansa's passenger and tears of shock and joy welled in his eyes. The king, forgetting all sense of station, ran over and pulled his little sister off her horse and into a hug.

"I thought you were dead," he said, laughing and wiping his tears off on her grimy little head.

"Death really doesn't suit me."

Jon's smile grew. "Me either."

The rest of the riding crew disembarked as well and joined them in their reverie. Sansa embraced her brother in greeting, then pulled back to let the two kindred spirits catch up. They were somehow already in the middle of a war story. "And so there I was, trapped at Harrenhal with no means of escape except the loyalty of an expert assassin I had freed—"

Podrick came over and held Sansa's hand and they all walked into the castle together. And in that moment, they were all together, broken and imperfect and impossibly happy.


End file.
